Spanish Intermezzo

The Forster couple, Chris and Roxane Forster from Vienna, arrived at Alicante Airport at midday. Chris picked up the rental car and they drove to Las Palmaretes, about an hour's drive northeast of Alicante, near Cala d'Or. The local Catalans had nicknamed the small settlement "Manhattan" because it was largely populated by Americans. House number 17 belonged to Artem Galebnikov, but of course, a straw man was listed in the land registry. The Forsters had arrived from Vienna in the summer: Roxane Forster, 68, and her husband Chris Forster, 50, a retiree. Frankie was a seasoned operator, and no one could doubt the authenticity of their new identities and documents. Chris Forster had opened an account with €250,000 at Caixa Bank, which should be enough for a nice, long vacation.

The Forsters fit in well with the neighborhood; they were quiet and unobtrusive. If Chris hadn't thrown a barbecue party for the neighbors in the generously sized garden during the first week, no one would have taken any notice of the newcomers. Once a week, the couple drove to San Joan d'Alacant, returning from the small town fully loaded with supplies for a week in their dirty brown electric car.

He had drained the pool at the back of the house and covered it. The sandy beach was right in front of the house. Of course, it wasn't a private beach; they weren't Onassis. But Chris bathed and swam several times a day in the clean waters of the Mediterranean. Few neighbors shared Chris's enthusiasm for the Mediterranean, so he was usually alone and mostly bathed naked. Roxane usually waded into the water up to her navel in the late afternoon, because by then the surf had calmed to a gentle ripple, and the little fish swam over to Roxane to nibble at her skin and pussy. She giggled because the little mouths tickled her pussy so deliciously, and she shuddered with innocent lust. Chris, who loved to tinker with the gas grill, conjured up sandwiches with fried food for lunch and always a lavish meal in the evening. He loved cooking and grilling and was really good at it; Roxane only took care of the strong morning coffee with croissants and the large thermos of ice-cold lemonade for the day. They only drank wine in the evenings.

Frank Halter had placed his father Artem's business, and later his own, in the hands of capable lieutenants when he was arrested and imprisoned. He had plenty of time to get his affairs in order. During his years in prison, he had little contact with the lieutenants, and after his release, he had no time at all and, frankly, little desire. He was on the warpath, highly focused and forward-thinking. He had secretly gotten his mother out of prison. He couldn't help but grin. It was a small masterpiece, meticulously planned and executed with nerves of steel. He hid his mother in the trade union hotel in Semmering and continued the charade as Dr. Aaron Weissmann for five weeks. It was thrilling to be able to amuse himself with the good Kerzendocht for over a month on the lawyer's table. In the Grey House, the prison, right under the noses of the justice system. That was a blast!

In the evenings, the Forsters sat in front of the house and watched the sunset, which was especially beautiful in this corner of the world. "Your grandmother, Jessipowa, was a real piece of trash. She completely ruined and corrupted my poor Artem, Chris." She always called him by his new name, just to be safe. She let the yellowed pages containing Artem's life story fall to the floor. "I found it distressing from the beginning that you had your grandfather's middle name. Jessipow wasn't a good man; he was a drunk, a pimp, a thug, and a murderer. You always claimed that knowing the tribe you came from meant something to you. No, Chris, you sprang from my loins, and you have nothing of Jessipow's. Nothing at all."

Chris placed his glass of ratafia, a local herbal liqueur, on the small table. "We'll never agree on this, Roxane. I am the son of Artem, the son of Yesipov. That's simply who I am. I'm not the son of no one, the son of a nobody. You were a highly sought-after woman back then, could have conceived with anyone, but Artem is truly my father." Roxane sighed deeply. "Yes, I was Artem's whore for many years; he wanted it that way. I never hid that from you. And of course, you are Artem's biological son and not the bastard child of my sexual escapades. I knew ways and means to conceive you only with Artem." They both stared at the small ripple against the sandy beach.

Roxane placed Artem's life confession on the small table and picked up her glass of rosé. "Chris, I never asked you about Frankie's plans, and frankly, I don't want to know the details. The policewoman would just beat me out of it again. But I never understood why you kept up this charade in my prison for so long. You completely ruined poor Rachel; you turned her into a slut. I talk to her every week. We used to be friends, but I'm devastated and very sad that she's now a slut who falls into everyone's arms."

Chris swirled his shot glass in his hand. He was thinking. "I can tell you two things about the whys and wherefores, Roxane, but I don't know if that will help you. Well, firstly, it was a game with the police. Just imagine President Johannes Wallner's face. How his eyes would almost pop out of his head when he realized my trick, my substitution. To imagine his stupid astonishment, that's pure magic, Roxane. Pure magic. Secondly, I have to confess, Rachel Kerzendocht was your friend, but I didn't think much of her. That bigoted attitude, that heart-wrenching concern for sick Kerzendocht, it always repelled me. But with shorter hair and the prison uniform, she was the perfect double. Yes, I only used her sexually, I don't deny that at all. On the one hand, she was a small, unassuming mouse, like most good Jewish women are. Back then, she wasn't even aware that she had a magnificent, hungry body, with all the trimmings. But I felt it the very first time, in Rachel. A sexually repressed volcano lay dormant. I did my best to bring this volcano to the surface and make it erupt with all its power. I succeeded, and I had a lot of fun with her sexy body. I don't deny that either. That's who I am, Roxane, you know it better than anyone."

Tears glistened in Roxane's eyes. "She was so sweet, so chaste, so innocent. And you ruined her, corrupted her forever. Just for fun. You don't even realize what kind of person you've become, Chris. Rachel was just a pillow to you; her being, her character, didn't appeal to you in the slightest, let alone interest you. I'm sad, Chris, sadder than I've been in a long time." She angrily wiped away the tears. "And now Sarah is your prey, you're stalking her like a hungry tiger. She's young and very pretty, admittedly, not married long, and you're going to run her over like a steamroller." Frankie's head jerked up. "Roxane, I'm not the tiger, not by a long shot. Sarah's on my heels and I'm holding back precisely because she's so pure and faithful. But she's the one driving me." Chris took a good swig of liquor. "Roxane, I belong to you, to you alone. We make love every night because we have a unique relationship. A relationship stronger than a fling with some Long Island chick." Chris leaned forward and hugged her. "Roxane, I want to be with you for life. Until my last breath." Roxane loved the way he hugged her. She'd loved it since he was born.

Chris had told the truth. He hadn't started the tryst; Sarah Stein from Long Island had. She had set up a deck chair and was watching Chris swim in the ocean. She had no intention of doing anything with him; she had chosen a discreet bikini because she was a shy and faithful wife. She had grown up in cramped conditions in the Bronx and converted to Judaism when she married old Mr. Stein, who, unfortunately, wasn't a passionate lover and primarily had his mind on the stock exchange, where he commuted every morning to work as a trader. She may have only pleasured her husband with her mouth, but she never looked left or right. An affair would destroy her princess-like life in an instant. Stein showed no mercy; the divorce papers, (Jewish Divorce Document / Sefer Kritut) complete with signature, were surely already prepared and tucked away in a drawer or his safe. No, Sarah wasn't like that; she didn't look left or right, she only looked straight ahead. Where naked Chris swam, parting the waves with his powerful arms.

Sarah let out a whistle of appreciation as Chris came ashore naked. "Adonis, Dionysus, and the Faun all rolled into one, Chris. It must have been the goddesses who endowed you so well." Chris laughed, slightly embarrassed, and came closer. "You're Sarah Stein, aren't you?" he babbled, picking up the thread of the conversation. "I'm afraid I don't know which three guys you're talking about, Sarah. I hope they're decent people and not gangsters." Sarah smiled gently. "Nonsense, people from ancient Greek mythology, a hobby of mine." Chris nodded and sat down opposite her in the sand. He still didn't care that she was secretly glancing at his crotch. "Ancient Greek stuff, yeah, sure. They never mentioned it at my school, or I was just asleep. Or both, if you like. Gods and goddesses? No fighting, no murder and mayhem? No action?"

Sarah laughed brightly. Little did she know she was hooked. "Murder and mayhem, action? Plenty, Chris, tons! It only became peaceful when all the gods and goddesses were dead at the end. It was quiet, deathly quiet. Then the humans raised their voices, roared their battle cries, because they now felt like gods. And bashed each other's heads in. So no, ancient mythology is more exciting than any Rambo movie, my dear!" Sarah nodded at his penis. "Is it a curse or a blessing?" Chris blinked for two ticks. "I never read complaint letters; I throw them away immediately. He's nothing special. A faithful companion, I can't complain." His grin was downright cheeky. Really cheeky. Sarah looked down. "I've only been married a short time, not even a year. And my husband's companion is considerably more modest and lazy, taciturn, so to speak." She giggled at the double entendre. "Taciturn. Lazy in my mouth." She clapped her hand over her mouth. "I didn't mean to be indiscreet, Chris. It just slipped out. Yes, sometimes it slips out of my mouth," she added with a double entendre. Now she blushed deeply, the redness spreading from her cheeks and ears down to her bikini top.

Chris rolled his eyes and grinned again. "It might not be exactly what the Bible says, but it does say that everyone serves the Lord in their own way." He looked at her curiously. "You serve your Lord with your mouth, which is very commendable for us Christians, perhaps for you Sabbath-goers as well. Am I to understand that you're still a virgin, Sarah?" Sarah held up ten fingers in indignation. "Nonsense, Chris. My stepbrother..." she paused. "Never mind, I'm definitely not a virgin anymore, sir!" Her mock indignation made them both laugh. She became serious again. "It's somehow your fault, Chris, that I tell you my bedroom secrets like a silly schoolgirl. At 24, I'm no schoolgirl, definitely not. Does your wife still fall for your charm, Chris?" His eyes slid across the sea and lingered on Sarah's face. "My wife? She's in a higher league than me, Sarah. Sometimes I act around her like a 14-year-old going through puberty."

They chatted for another hour. With flushed cheeks, she explained to him what she meant by fellatio. No, Mr. Stein had never truly taken her in his arms like a man; his powers simply weren't up to that anymore. But he desperately wanted a child, a son, an heir. "So we made a convoluted arrangement. Derek, my stepbrother, would be the sperm donor. Of course, I never told my husband that Derek was my stepbrother and that we'd been doing this since we were kids. Derek had to sign a contract. Mr. Stein explained it to him. "You are relinquishing all rights of paternity. You'll receive $100 for each sperm donation, generously." Derek signed, and since then we've been working diligently on having a son. Derek comes three or four times a week, the dear fellow. Mr. Stein sits on the edge of the bed with a sour expression, counting every single shot donation. Derek takes the money and quietly disappears, and I lean over my husband's lap. You'll probably despise me, Chris, for sacrificing my dignity for my husband's son."

Chris had smiled broadly, but now he was serious again. "How could I despise you or your husband? He made a Solomon-like decision, and not to your disadvantage. Even if you've known and loved Derek since he was a child, the sperm donation itself is also for your pleasure!" Sarah couldn't look him in the eye. "Yes, there's something to that. I cheer and jubilee every time I get a sperm donation, so my husband keeps track. I really enjoy it; it's not about supplementing Derek's pocket money." Chris stood up; he wanted to go back in the water. Sarah stood up hesitantly. She dropped her bikini and followed him.

Hand in hand, they waded out. When the water reached their hips, he took her. Her eyes were wide with wonder, but then she helped him to force him into herself. Sarah let herself fall backward, floating lightly and gracefully above the realm of the sea god. Poseidon performed the task, steadily and powerfully, with great dignity. When it was over, she stood up and hugged Chris. "Mr. Stein can keep those 300 dollars," she joked. Chris wasn't unhappy with how things were going. Of course, he would tell Roxane after dinner, but with a clear conscience.

He found Roxane with a tear-stained face and reddened eyes. "I spoke with Rachel on the phone. We cried together because she was incredibly sad that she meant so little to Dr. Weissmann. Every woman, even the lowest streetwalker, has her dignity, the thing that holds her body and soul together. And you trampled on her dignity for six weeks. She can't forgive you, and most of all, she can't forgive herself. Broken hearts lie to the left and right of your path because you can't help it, Chris."

She perked up again when Chris told her how Sarah Stein had hunted him down and brought him down. Yes, she laughed uproariously as he recounted the conversation about fellatio and Sarah's various techniques in vivid and colorful detail. Chris shook his head; no, technically the old man had never taken her, he just couldn't. Roxane laughed until she cried because Chris described Sarah's fellatio so vividly and intensely, as if he'd been right there. Roxane slapped her thighs as she laughed. "Well, I would never have been satisfied with just that offering of lips; I would have pounced on him and devoured him whole!" She wiped her tears of laughter away with the back of her hand. But Roxane's jaw dropped open as Chris recounted the bizarre arrangement. "What a cunning little minx, by my soul! Letting her own brother wait on her hand and foot while her husband sits by like a miserable wretch, counting the sperm donations. 100 dollars a shot, you said? My boy, I'm too old for this era, because that wouldn't have happened in my day! The thought makes me seem old-fashioned, oh my God! I never wanted to be old-fashioned, and certainly not to appear old-fashioned!"

Chris had to cheer her up quickly, so he told her how Poseidon had tossed the girl before him like driftwood. Roxane grinned again. "The first time the hunted rabbit has eaten the tiger!" Roxane admired and envied the young girl. "Oh, Roxane, she's nothing special, nothing exciting. A nice diversion while swimming, that's all." Roxane was visibly reassured. She allowed her boy a little variety. "I'm so glad I have a son and not a daughter. I wouldn't have had any fun with such a cunning hussy. A harpy like that would have killed me long ago." Chris asked what a harpy was.

The news from Vienna prompted Chris to set up a conference call with two of the lieutenants. Naturally, they used code words for police, bribes and everything else. In case anyone was listening. Gernot and Jan, the Pole, were audibly in a bad mood. "The Russians and the Asians are putting our business under a lot of pressure, Boss." Chris objected to that form of address. "We're not filming some Hollywood blockbuster here. And as for the competition, get creative. Attack is still the best form of defense. Put a few heads on the skewers, and that'll take care of things. Guys, I'm stuck here in Biarritz, so you'll have to manage without me." "Biarritz?" Gernot and Jan asked simultaneously. "We thought you were in Miami, Chief." Chris was about to explode, insisting he wasn't the chief either, but then he thought better of it. "Guys, you're the chiefs now, especially you, Gernot. I certainly won't be able to join you before August or September. So, take the reins and crack down hard, okay?"

Gernot audibly gasped for air. "August, September? Well, that's how it is then. There's something else, boss. Every day, one cop or another shows up, gropes our girls, and demands your attention like a maniac. They're getting bolder and bolder, more and more demanding. They stopped believing our story about you having business in Prague a long time ago." Chris only hesitated for a moment. "Alright, let yourselves be interrogated and threatened, it's supposed to sound credible. And then whisper under your breath that I'm recovering from my gunshot wounds in Miami, Biarritz, or wherever. Give them a good old-fashioned shootout, let me bleed and limp away. I need rest, sunshine, and a hot nurse. Okay? Yeah, yeah, it'll all work out."

Jan, the silent one, spoke up. "Boss, the cops are relentlessly searching for you, Gernot already pointed out. They claim you killed a dozen women. A dozen, yeah. Is there any truth to that, boss?" Chris shifted on the park bench. "Jan, don't be an idiot. I buy women, I sell them, and if they're pretty, I take them. Me, killing women? What's the point? What would I get out of it?" Chris waited to see if his arguments were having any effect. After a while, Jan continued. "The cops are going door-to-door with this story, it's no laughing matter, Chief. Our girls are completely thrown off by all this cop talk. They're afraid of you, a different kind of fear than usual, Chief. They're reading the newspapers too, and there have been some unsolved murders of women recently." Chris had to dig deeper into his bag of tricks. "Yeah, there's a policewoman, small and vicious like a terrier. She's behind all this, she's siccing the cops on you." Jan huffed. "Yeah, that's right, she's always around, a real wild thing, that jewish policewoman, Chief!" Chris was gaining the upper hand. "She blames me for not getting what she wanted from our little fling. Not at all. She hurled the nastiest Yiddish insults at me and swore I'd regret my mother ever giving birth to me." He waited anxiously to see if the seed would sprout. He heard Gernot say to Jan, "That'll sort things out. A frigid woman is just as fierce as a spurned one. That explains a lot, Jan." Gernot took the microphone again. "Boss, we understand. We'll send the cops somewhere, maybe to Vientiane or Bangkok; that's where the nests with the prettiest nurses are."

Two hours later, Chris sat in the sand, Sarah lying across his lap after their fourth copulation of the day. Chris couldn't let go of the conversation with Gernot and Jan. Hofstätter and his gang were still on his trail. He looked around; Las Palmaretes and Manhattan were as quiet and peaceful as ever. Sarah came to swim every day, which was very nice, but hadn't she long suspected that the Forsters were fake? That their inconspicuousness was just a cover? He had to make a decision, perhaps even cut his vacation short?

Roxane initially said nothing when he brought it up over their evening drinks. "Do I still have time to pack my suitcase?" she asked. He said 48 hours; they would take the midday flight from Alicante. If she agreed, he could book it right away. Roxane said she would call Rachel and ask her to fill the refrigerator, as they wouldn't land in Vienna until the evening. Chris looked at her, perplexed. "No, Mother, absolutely not! There's a cop sitting on our porch, and if Rachel suddenly shows up, we're done for. They've never connected Rachel with us, and that's for the best. No, please keep everything to yourself, and don't even say goodbye to our neighbors here. We'll just get in the car and leave. That's the right way." Roxane thought for a moment, processing his words. "I understand completely, Frankie. We're sailing incognito." He nodded. "The Forsters are landing in Schwechat airport, without a welcoming committee. We'll take a taxi and disappear into the darkness of the night, first to a hotel. I'll find out when you can come back to our house. The next day the cops will be back, your Gestapo woman will give you a real grilling. - Yes, you were with me in Spain, but you don't know exactly which backwater. Don't exaggerate, don't make up long stories. Just say how simply and modestly we lived here. They'll check everything and they'll find our traces. Screw it, Manhattan will never see us again. Please don't take any souvenirs, they'll rummage through your luggage like pigs. I'll transfer your photos to the hard drive, and you'll get them back when the dust settles. Roxane, the vacation ends tomorrow. It was lovely, we had each other for a few quiet months. But the day after tomorrow it's back to everyday life, everyday life full of cops. Just like before."

"I love you very much, Roxane, and this love belongs to us, only to us."

Roxane looked at him gratefully. "And what do I do about Rachel?" Frankie looked at her very seriously. "Mother, she's your friend, I didn't quite grasp that back then. When we get home, let her stay overnight. I promise you, I'll restore her dignity, little by little, every night, in installments. Now that I know how much she means to you." Roxane nodded, her eyes half-closed. "Okay, I understand. Yes, maybe you can fix this mess. She'll melt in your arms, I'm sure of it. I won't stand in your way; I know how charming you are when you want to be. But don't expect anything from me; I won't touch my friend. You know I'm not lesbian enough. Or - am I?" Roxane was completely flustered; for the first time, these frivolous, obscene images had flashed through her mind. "I don't know, I've never thought about it before. Rachel is 15 years younger than me, barely over 50. I'm a little hesitant; her friendship is more important to me than that fleeting moment." Roxane sank into dull brooding. Only when Artem explicitly ordered it had she hugged a woman, quite a few in fact. But it had always felt alien to her.

The thought of Rachel haunted her that night. Of course, she had often seen Rachel naked, her trembling fingers tracing her skin. And of course, she had repeatedly told Rachel she had a beautiful body with tremendous sex appeal. But Rachel had only laughed shyly and let Roxane suck on her sensitive nipples. But they never did it right; they were far too fearful and embarrassed.

The friendship with Rachel was truly something special. Rachel had once asked her if she would help her wash the half-paralyzed Kerzendocht. He, Kerzendocht, was almost completely blind and by now almost completely paralyzed. The old man was only 51, younger than his wife, but he had been bedridden for ten years. Rachel had ridden him or given him oral sex during the first few years, but he wanted variety. Rachel agreed and procured this or that neighbor for him to ride, and that made the poor fellow very happy. So they stood naked on either side of his bed, undressed him, and washed him carefully. Rachel had let her wash Kerzendocht's penis and then arouse him by rubbing, because Roxane had once sighed about how much she loved penises. Roxane was surprised that Kerzendocht's penis barely had any foreskin left, so radically had the old Jew been circumcised. Rachel moistened his glans with her mouth, because Roxane had a special technique: she rubbed his penis not only firmly up and down, her wettened thumb circling his glans incessantly. Roxane's withered breasts trembled with the effort with which she rubbed the cock firmly and mercilessly, for well over half an hour. She gasped that he was ready, and Rachel then put her lips around her husband's cock while Roxane continued rubbing without pausing. When his cock began to twitch desperately, Rachel placed her husband's fingers on Roxane's vulva and took his cock deep into her mouth. The blind man groped the stranger's vulva, and as soon as he found her clit, he ejaculated deep into Rachel's mouth. Rachel swallowed everything, of course, and Roxane continued rubbing him hard until he stopped ejaculating. Roxane continued rubbing his penis vigorously as he ejaculated, letting Rachel drink and swallow the semen, stream by stream, and only stopped when it was over. It was good teamwork.

Often, though, the old man would stammer, "Rachel, my life, the alien woman should ride me, please!" So, when he was quite ready, Roxane would straddle him, insert his cock and ride him hard and mercilessly, letting him ejaculate inside her. A bright glow spread across his face; he loved to squirt inside an alien vagina. Often he remained stiff even after the first ejaculation, so Roxane had to ride him a second time. The second time always lasted much longer, but Roxane persevered until he ejaculated again. And Roxane had probably ridden him and let him ejaculate inside her hundreds of times over the years. Afterward, the two women lay naked side by side, but Roxane didn't dare do more than caress Rachel's magnificent breasts with her lips and take her large nipples between her lips and bite them softly. With wide eyes, she watched as Rachel, cursing and yelling with pleasure, worked her clit from climax to climax until she was completely exhausted. - No, she would never have touched her friend intimately, never. And she would never masturbate in her presence; that was completely unthinkable.

Frankie hugged her very gently. "Mom, don't overthink it. Just get Rachel's volcano into our bed. Then you'll see. I saw the way you looked at her, Mom, the way you looked at her body. Maybe you do love playing with her and her body. Don't say yes or no now, say nothing. You'll do the right thing."

Chris packed their luggage into the rental car the next night. The following morning, they got into the car and drove off.

● ● ●